


If There is Such a Thing

by coffeespoons



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9763865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeespoons/pseuds/coffeespoons
Summary: They've been doing this for a while, now. (3/3)





	

Violet was in California, watching snapchats of snowfall in New York from what they had come to consider their side of Katya’s bed. It was hard to pay attention, however, with Katya huffing and lolling his head around restlessly next to them.

“What’s wrong now?” Violet said, monotone, not looking up from their phone. “What’s wrooong, poodle?” They reached over to stroke the other queen’s wild hair. Katya leaned into Violet’s touch and sighed.

“Can I be real with you for a second?” he whispered, holding Violet’s wrist. Violet nodded, putting their phone down. “I want to be in love.”

“You’re so old-fashioned.”

“I know.”

“Moping about love when you got a hot piece of ass in your bed.”

Katya snorted, reaching under the covers to squeeze the ass in question.

“I love you,” he said, his voice deep and creepy. Violet rolled their eyes and groaned.

“Don’t start with this shit…”

“I do,” Katya sat up, looming over the lounging queen, running his hand down their narrow chest, stopping to dig his fingers into Violet’s hipbone. “Darling,” he smiled as his hand went lower. “how many times do I have to say it? I am completely… Utterly… Lustfully--”

Violet poked him hard in the ribs, earning a pained yelp from the other queen. Katya flopped back to his side of the bed, rubbing his sore side.

“Then why the fuck you moping, bitch?”

“Because!” Katya shot an irritated look at Violet, who shrugged, like, _you asked for it, pal_. “Christ. You know what I mean. This,” he waved his hand, “is wonderful and all, until you hop back on that plane, probably in the middle of the night, again, while I'm sound asleep, leaving me to fend for myself in a sea of thirsty, drunken... social media mavens…”

“Poor thing,” Violet said, watching Katya get lost in thought for a moment. Violet rolled their eyes and sat up to plant a kiss on his cheek. Katya caught them before they could pull away.

 

They had been doing this for a while, now.

Violet liked -- no, Violet _loved_ that they could spend the night, or a weekend, or nearly an entire fucking month with Katya doing truly insane things, and then go home thousands of miles away and never once worry about him becoming possessive, or weird, or crazy. Beyond the usual, at least. The only real drawback of their situation, really, were the hours of Violet’s young life they had sacrificed listening to Katya fret about Trixie Mattel and the string of flighty geeks who kept letting her down.

“It’ll never last,” Katya would say, every time, shaking his head and staring out in the distance at some lonely pink dystopia Violet could only imagine. “He doesn’t get her. I can tell.”

“Jesus Christ,” Violet would mutter. “Just go fuck her, already.”

And every time Violet said this, Katya would give them the same exasperated look and say: “Don’t be stupid. Trixie has standards, unlike some people.”

And Violet would curse and laugh with Katya until they couldn’t, usually because Katya’s tongue was in their mouth.

 

 

Back in bed, Violet wrapped their long arms around him, breaking their kiss to mumble something against the older queen’s shoulder.

“What was that?” Katya asked, dropping a kiss on top of Violet’s head.

“Don’t make me say it again,” Violet sighed. So he didn’t.

 

*

 

Violet didn’t think much of it when they did, eventually, go home and start this thing of sending Katya random selfies throughout the week. Always with a clever caption, of course. Sometimes Violet quoted poets and great thinkers, like T.S. Eliot and Lana Del Rey, if they felt their words properly reflected the beauty of said selfie. The thoughtful captioning may or may not have been a Katya-exclusive practice.

And sometimes Katya would respond - always something gross and/or weird, and never sexy (except, maybe, the dick pic with the tiny plastic hands wrapped around his boner (Violet was still deconstructing their feelings about that one) - and that was that.

 

It did occasionally lead to some awkward moments. Like when Violet's trade noticed the camera and tried to squeeze into frame.

“Could you, um,” Violet waved their hand dismissively at one such guy who’d followed them home from the venue. He was pretty and stupid, but they had both orgasmed over a half hour ago and Violet wasn't sure what the hold up was. “Move?”

“Um,” the guy - Ike? Ivan? - blinked, hanging off the edge of the bed. Violet stared at him, waiting.

“Look… babe,” Violet began, “that was great. Really fun. But you're in my light.”

“Oh,” Ike-or-Ivan grunted. “Okay. Can we at least take a selfie? You said we could at the club, but then…”

Violet rolled their eyes and sighed. “Okay,” they said, “but it has to be the double dog filter and then you have to get the fuck out.”

 

*

Violet stopped sending the pictures when they heard that Katya had started pursuing some hot young artist in NYC who made erotic sculptures out of animal teeth, or some shit. They weren’t jealous of the relationship, whether it was real or not -- there had been plenty of attempts between the two of them -- They were just a little… irritated, with the fact that Katya had the nerve to be very visibly dating, of all things, a fetish artist in New York fucking City.

Perturbed was maybe the better term. Irked? Violet was irked when they saw Katya snapchatting from the studio, or posing over a ramen bowl with the handsome European fucker, and all they could hear in their head was that phony Russian idiot saying: I want to be in love.

Ugh, Violet thought, tapping through Katya’s 520 second snap story. I need to get laid.

 

*

“It's okay to be sad,” Pearl said one day over coffee. They were on a plane headed west and Violet had quickly veered their conversation to a new topic once Pearl began listing the familiar faces she was planning to see in L.A.

Violet looked at her. “Sad about what?”

“That guy Katya’s seeing.” Violet’s eyes narrowed.

“Why would I be sad about that? Good for her.”

“Well,” Pearl drawled, “you're definitely not happy about it…” Violet rolled their eyes, returning to their Twitter feed. “If it makes you feel any better,” Pearl said, “I did hear that Katya dicked down some clingy bilingual twunk in Austin last week. So it must not be _that_ serious.”

Violet stared at Pearl.

“Clingly twunk, huh?”

Pearl nodded.

“Oh, Pearl,” Violet muttered. “You always know what to say.” Pearl smirked and patted Violet’s knee.

“There, there, buttercup…”

 

*

Monday night at Micky’s. Katya would be there. He never missed it.

Pearl slipped away to go catch up with Detox, leaving Violet to play it cool by the stage while they waited to see that stupid idiot walk in.

They were about to give up and go find Pearl when they heard a head-rattling cackle float through the door.

Violet stared at Katya for a few minutes, waiting to catch those bright eyes, before finally pulling out their phone and sending a text: _bitch have u been wearing that damn shirt for a week straight?_

They watched from across the room as Katya read the message, lifted his head up and just like that, spotted Violet across the room. Laser accuracy.

Katya grinned. Violet tried to stay cool, but they couldn't help themself; it felt like their face was broken open.

Violet didn't make their way to Katya, though. They'd come this far; It was Katya’s turn, now.

They stood their ground by the stage as Katya disengaged from his entourage, dodging a couple drunk fans as he cut his path to the young queen. Violet held their arms out for a hug and Katya leaped into them, wrapping his legs around Violet’s waist. Violet howled, gripping the dead weight of him for a moment before letting him down.

Violet made a show of looking around. “Where's the bratwurst?”

“ _Franz_?" Katya laughed. "Franz is home.”

Violet swallowed a little vomit and pointed to the ground, mouthing, “here?”

Katya looked at Violet quizzically, shaking his head, thumbing East.

Ah.

“Too bad,” Violet said, “I’m dying to meet him.”

 

It was as if Violet had never left. They kiki’d hard; they discussed work and Trixie Mattel’s love life (which was much more optimistic these days, thank you very much), and brutally read each other until Violet let their gaze, their lips, their hands linger and Katya finally said, “I'm ready to go home, now,” and Violet nodded, their hand warm in Katya’s grip.

 

*

 

In the dark of Katya’s apartment, Violet said, “I missed you,” and Katya smiled into the skin of their neck, “I can't believe how much I fucking _missed_ you.”

“I can,” Katya said, his hand crawling up Violet’s thigh.

 

*

“Who’s that?” Violet asked, when the texts started coming and didn’t stop.

“The bratwurst,” Katya said, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “He misses me.”

“So it's true,” Violet drawled, suddenly uncomfortable. Too much light shined in on this side of the bed from the window. Violet didn't remember that, and now it was giving them a headache. “Katya has finally found that great love she’s been looking for...”

“He’s... sweet,” Katya replied after a moment. “Good heart. Beautiful dick.” He cast a quick glance at Violet, who was pretending to read their twitter feed. Katya returned his attention to his text. “You would like him.”

“I don’t,” Violet said simply with a shrug. “He sucks. Fuck him.”

“He does, and I do.” When Violet didn't laugh, or react at all to this response, Katya studied the young queen for a moment and added, quietly: “What are… why are we doing this?”

“What? What's the matter?” Now Violet felt that trademark Chachki Petulance™ start to take hold and sniffed, “Afraid _Franz_ isn’t gonna like you traipsing off to fuck an old friend once in awhile? Well,” Violet scrolled their phone aggressively, not really seeing anything but red, “Doesn’t really sound like a healthy modern relationship to me, Barb.”

Katya was staring at Violet, now, concern etched into his features. “He doesn’t mind,” he said, and Violet felt a pang at the idea that Katya had asked permission, or even told this guy about their… thing, at all. It was a strange sensation that they hadn’t felt in years. “If he did,” Katya continued, cupping Violet’s cheek and turning them to face him, “I wouldn’t be seeing him. I thought you understood that.”

Violet was quiet for a moment before finally saying, “I don’t.” They searched Katya’s eyes, not even caring how fucking ridiculous they sounded. “I don't understand anything anymore.”

Katya had never looked at Violet like that before. He held their face in his hand, Violet’s jaw twitching in his grasp, before letting his grip slip to the back of their neck.

After a long moment, Katya said, “Okay,” and leaned in close. “Let me explain, then. As clearly as I can.”

He kissed Violet, who held him in place, clinging tighter than they intended.

 _“Je suis moi,”_ Katya began, moving to Violet’s cheek, to their jaw. _“Et tu es tu,”_ their neck. _“Et nous sommes nous,”_ Collar bone. _“Et nous voici...”_

“Idiot,” Violet sighed.

“...and I want that.”

Violet knew they were supposed to laugh, or swear, or something; but they couldn’t do any of that because a dangerous burning sensation seared their eyes. They took Katya’s face in their hands and brought him down to lay his head on their chest, holding him there as they drew a ragged breath.

“Brian,” Violet said, the emotion in their voice mangling his simple name.

Katya didn't move. He stayed where he was, Violet’s hand in his hair, their heart hammering against his ear, and said, “I know.”

 

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Katya utters some French nothings in Violet's ear, because, look: I'm not gonna trust google translate with Russian. I'm just not. And yes, BM can parler, but I only know the bad words. So.
> 
> Roll credits: youtu.be/mm-G8OB2zO8


End file.
